My Water Path

by Timothy Joseph

  The kid pushed Mayhew to his knees.

  When Mayhew’s knees touched the ground, the kid was bent over with his arms stretched out—my opportunity. I swung my leg and brought it up with a solid kick under the kid’s outstretched arms. My shoe hit him hard in the mouth and nose, and his head flew back wildly. He fell over backward toward the street. Watch and plan! I glanced immediately at the big kid. He had dropped the bags and I saw his fist heading for my face.

  It was too close to block, but I remembered Jacob showing me how to move quickly in the same direction as a punch so it wouldn’t be nearly as effective. I yanked my head quickly to the left as his fist struck my cheek, hard. His arm followed through, which meant he was vulnerable and had to recover before he could deliver another punch. I swung my left hand quickly over my right shoulder, and, with all my might, hit the big kid in the face with the butt of my fist. His head snapped back, and with my right fist, I struck him in the stomach. This sent him curling in on himself as he grasped his stomach. With both hands, I grabbed his head. I wanted to bring my knee up into his face, but Jacob’s words sailed through my mind. Remember, you want to teach a person a lesson, but you don’t want to kill ’em.

  I knew it wouldn’t kill him, but I knew it could really be bad, and it was so easy. I pushed him back. He fell to the ground with a hard thump. His nose was bleeding, but he gripped his stomach and gasped repeatedly.

  I looked at the other kid. His lip was cut and his nose and lip were bleeding. He was on his side, whimpering. Mayhew was standing over him and I saw him pull his leg back to kick him in the face. “No! No! Mayhew, don’t.”

  Mayhew looked at me with pure hate in his eyes. “But they started it.”

  “And we finished it. Come on!”

  I picked up the paper bag with the burgers, and Mayhew reached down and got the bag with the Cokes; they hadn’t broken. We ran down the alley and onto the tug.

  Jacob immediately noticed my bruised cheek. “What the hell happened?”

  Mayhew was all wound up. “Two big kids took our lunch and tried to beat us up, but you should have seen Jory. He took care of both of them, one right after the other. It was something.”

  Jacob looked back at me. “Were they wearing black baseball caps backwards?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Those are two really bad dudes. They ain’t gonna forget what you did. They’ll want to get even. You need to watch your backside, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jacob smiled. “Guessing you remembered what I done taught you.”

  “I sure tried.”

  “Can you teach me?” Mayhew asked.

  “Don’t think we have enough time, young man. But I’m guessing Jory can teach you right well.”

  “Will you? Please, Jory.”

  Jacob smiled at me and nodded. “It’ll be good practice for you. I’m hoping you ain’t gonna need it again, but I don’t think them two jerks are going to forget. The next time, you can bet they will have some kind of weapon. They saw you can whip ’em barehanded, so you need to be ready, because they ain’t gonna be barehanded.”

  Jacob grabbed the flat end of a long screwdriver and told me to pretend it was a club and he was going to use it on me. He said, “What you want to do is control when he uses it. You force him to use it when you can be ready for it.”

  “How?”

  “You fake like you’re going to come at him, knowing sure well he’s going to swing it at you. But since you know he’s going to swing it, you’re already moving back really fast, so it swings it past you. That’s when you take control. Try it.”

  We sparred a few times, and Mayhew was all eyes. Jacob said something Mayhew didn’t like; neither did I. “Expect to get hit, and expect it to hurt, but remember, don’t let the pain give him control. When he hits you, you use it to your advantage. Hurt later, but react just as if he didn’t hit you. Take advantage.”

  He used the screwdriver, pulled the punch so it didn’t hurt, and showed me how to lock the weapon under my arm or with my hand so it couldn’t be used again. We practiced several times. I was able to move out of the way of the screwdriver twice. He showed me how to protect my head by bringing up both arms with my elbows out, and when he hit my arms with the screwdriver, he showed me how to use the downswing of both fists on the opponent’s face. He said two fists to the face could knock a person down quickly.

  Afterward, we ate our hamburgers and the fries, and helped Jacob and Max change the oil and filters on the engine. I told them we had a few miles to ride to get home and had to leave midafternoon. When we got ready to leave, Jacob pointed out the shortest way to get to the road that went downriver.

  Mayhew was on the back of the bike and I was pedaling down the road for home. I got tired fast, for we were going uphill, so we walked the bike to the top.

  “I don’t think we should tell Moses about the fight, okay?” I said. “If we do, I don’t think he’ll let us come to town alone again, and I really like seeing Jacob and Max.”

  “But what about your bruise?”

  “I’ll tell him we fell when we hit a bump.”

  “But it’s a lie.”

  “Yeah, but he’ll get mad at me for fighting back.”

  “Why would he? If you didn’t, they would have hurt us.”

  I fell silent after that, feeling defeated.

  24

  Perspective

  IT WAS A HARD RIDE WITH MAYHEW ON THE BACK, but we made it in good time. I told Mayhew not to say anything unless we were asked, but I knew Moses would see the bruise. We walked into the kitchen, and Bess was at the stove. When she saw me, her hand went to her mouth. “My goodness, Jory, what happened? Come here, child.”

  “I think I’m in trouble, Grandma,” I murmured. “Grandpa is going to be mad at me for getting into a fight.”

  “But, Grandma, they started it. It was all their fault, not ours,” Mayhew said.

  Moses came into the kitchen carrying his coffee mug. He must have overheard Bess, for he didn’t act surprised at all. He put his cup next to the sink and walked past me to stand next to Bess, who had a clean, wet rag and was gently dabbing my bruise. He rubbed the top of my head as he passed and took a seat at the table.

  “Looks to me like someone might have gotten the drop on you? Sorry about that, son. What happened?”

  “No they didn’t,” Mayhew said loudly. “Jory got them good.”

  “Let’s let Jory here tell us what happened, okay, Mayhew?” Bess asked. Mayhew stood next to me as if to make sure he was part of the story, and to offer his support.

  I told them what happened with as little detail as possible while Bess put some salve on the bruise and Moses looked at me with a neutral expression. I was expecting him to be angry. I finished with, “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have fought back.”

  “It’s not the best way to solve problems. Sometimes, however, you don’t have any way to prevent it even when you try. I’m only worried their anger will make them want to get even.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I hope we can go back to see Jacob and Max. I’ll just be careful.”

  “Hiding away never works anyway. Let’s just hope those two learned their lesson. They are no cause to stop you from seeing your friends.”

  “Thank you, Grandpa.”

  He put his arm around me. “Whenever you are upset about something, try and remember the real cause of the feeling. Sure, something bad is going on, but how you react is your choice. Make sure you don’t lose the true perspective. Don’t let it trap you in anger and fear. Otherwise, you don’t see your inner goodness, only the outside world that’s got you cornered in anger. Son, I know it’s not easy to stop and think when you’re angry. We don’t know what would have happened had you not fought. We can only be thankful for how it ended.”

  “But, Grandpa, what should I have done when they pushed Mayhew to his knees after slapping him?”

  “I only ask you to remember to do
what is best under the circumstances, and not something rage is demanding of you. Never let hate control your actions, Jory.”

  “But I hated those two. When they called Mayhew that name, I thought about my dad, and what he would have done.”

  “I believe your papa would have been very proud of his boy today.”

  I looked at the floor in sadness. I felt good that my dad would have been proud of me, and sad that he couldn’t tell me.

  “Tell me about your dad, son. I’d love to know him through you.”

  I smiled. “I loved going fishing and working with him in his shop. He showed me how to do everything, but mostly, I loved his reading to me, and me reading with him.” I went on and on about Dad.

  Moses said, “You are very lucky to have had such a fine papa. I’m sorry you lost him.”

  I looked up at Moses and my eyes got all watery. I knew Mayhew and Lucilla stood behind me, and I knew I would be embarrassed if they saw I was about to cry. He whispered, “We’ll talk some more about your daddy another time.” He then said loudly, “You three need to check the school assignment sheet and see if you’re all on schedule, okay? I want a report in ten minutes.”

  When Moses learned we were all caught up on our lessons, he called us over. “I have a surprise for you,” he said, reaching for the thick book on his lap. He held it up, and before he could say anything Lucilla yanked it out of his hand and looked at the cover.

  “Wow!” she said. “Moby Dick. Grandpa, I can’t wait to read it. When can we start?”

  “That’s the story about the big whale, right?” Mayhew said.

  Moses smiled. “Sure is. Lessons are done. We can start right now.”

  “Can I start it, please, Grandpa?” Lucilla asked.

  “Why, I do believe ‘ladies first’ is a good thing.”

  Lucilla opened the book and cradled it in her arms like a precious, fragile gift, and began reading. “‘Call me Ishmael…’” After a page, Moses told her it was Mayhew’s turn. He continued reading, a little slower, but with just as much enthusiasm. When he finished his page, it was my turn. I read, handed the book to Moses, and he read. I loved hearing his voice tell the story; it was as if I were hearing my dad.

  We couldn’t wait to get our turn to read, especially when we were reading about Ishmael having to sleep in the same bed with a big African native named Queequeg, who looked like a cannibal, carried a shrunken head with him, and had different colored squares tattooed on his face. The scene went on and on and we laughed ourselves silly, imagining having a cannibal crawl into bed with us. We laughed harder when Moses read that Ishmael woke to find Queequeg’s huge tattooed arm around him.

  The next evening, we continued, and when we read the chapter A Bosom Friend, it was as if Ishmael was describing what had taken place here. He explained how very different he was from this African native, far more different than I was with my new family, but even though Queequeg worshiped a wooden idol, was a huge, tattooed, scary African, they became, indeed, bosom buddies. When Mayhew read the part where Queequeg emptied his pockets of silver coins, counted out thirty pieces, and put half

  of them into Ishmael’s pocket as a gesture to tell him he was his true friend, I glanced up at Moses. He smiled and gave me a barely noticeable nod. I smiled back.

  25

  To Dream

  MY DAD HELD HIS FISHING ROD over the side of the boat, the line taut. On the seat facing him was Moses with his cane pole stretched out the other side of the boat. “How’s my son doing?” he asked Moses.

  “Why, your boy is just fine.” Moses said, smiling. “He’s a good boy, and he sure does miss his daddy.”

  I tried hard to get a close look at the boat and the lake to see where they were, but I couldn’t really see the water, just my dad and Moses sitting on the seats, holding their poles.

  My dad tipped his head. “How’d you come to take care of him, Moses?”

  “The Mississippi brought him to me. The lad got caught in a mean storm, was doing all the right things, but he sure needed rescue. I gave him a hand. When I learned he didn’t have you anymore, I figured he needed a family, and I do believe he thought so, too.”

  Dad lowered his head, then raised it to look at Moses. “How do I thank you?”

  Moses thought for a moment. “You don’t. No reason to. Your boy is a part of our family, and we are blessed to have him. He is a gift. I thank you for raising such a good boy. You’re the one who gave him his values, and I’m honored to continue where you left off.”

  “Well, Mr. Moses,” my dad emphasized ‘Mr.’, “I thank you for feeling the way you do, and I’m grateful he found you—or rather you found him. You thank Bess for me, too, will you?”

  Moses smiled. “Surely I will, Mr. Warren. Just you remember, Jory is your son, always will be.”

  Dad said, “I’ll be leaving you now, Moses—thank you.”

  “Dad!” All I wanted was to talk to him. Then, I felt something nudge my shoulder.

  “Jory, smell the bacon?” Mayhew said.

  My eyes opened to Mayhew’s smiling face.

  Sitting at the breakfast table, I kept looking at Moses. It was as if he had indeed been fishing and talking with my dad. It felt real to me, and even if it wasn’t, I think Moses knew.

  * * *

  It seemed like so little time had passed when, one evening at dinner, Bess asked what we each wanted for Christmas. Christmas! I had come here sometime in June—had I really been living here half a year? I looked around the table. I had a grandpa, a grandma, a brother and sister. I listened to the conversation and heard the positive and happy voices around me. As I looked at each of them, I realized they were my whole life, my family, and I didn’t see color. I didn’t see them as black or myself as white. I saw only the family I loved.

  How did it happen fate took me here? Sure, I was young, but I knew how lucky I was, and how rare a circumstance I was in.

  “What about you, Jory?” Bess asked.

  I looked at her, Moses, and back to Bess. “There’s only one thing I want for Christmas, only one.”

  “And what might that be?” Moses asked.

  “A big pot of chicken and dumplings. That’s all I want, really.”

  “Well now,” Bess said, “you can have it easy enough, but it doesn’t count as a Christmas present.”

  “Well, I don’t need anything.”

  “Christmas isn’t about what you need; it’s about getting something special you really want. We all have special things we want, including you, Jory,” Moses said.

  I looked at Moses, looked at his hands, hands that worked hard for his family, including me. “There is one thing I truly want.” I lowered my eyes. It just came out: “I want to stay here with you. I don’t want to ever leave.”

  For a long moment, silence reigned. My mind took me back to the State woman telling me how nice Momma Bitch was, and to Stewart telling me his wife didn’t want me and it would be fine to live in a foster home. I was suddenly frightened that I might lose this home. I thought about my dad and how much I missed him and how much I loved Moses. Tears came to my eyes, and I couldn’t stop myself. I lowered my head, embarrassed, and angry that I couldn’t control myself.

  Bess said in a gentle voice, “Jory, this is your home, and this is where you will live for as long as you wish.”

  Still looking down, I sniffled and nodded, getting angrier with myself as tears dripped from my eyes. The more I tried to hold back, the more the tears formed. Moses stood and reached for my hand. “Jory and I need to chat. You’ll excuse us, please.”

  Bess said, “Of course, Moses. We’ll clean up the kitchen.”

  We walked to the living room and Moses sat in his chair. He reached his arm around me, took hold of my shoulder, and pulled me to him. When my cheek found his shoulder, I could barely get out the words, “I’m sorry.”

  His other arm wrapped around me and squeezed me into him. “Now, son, don’t you be sorry. Crying is a gift of feeling, n
ot something to be embarrassed or sorry for. A weak man holds back tears, while a strong man lets them flow.”

  When I said nothing, Moses added softly, “I think there’s more to why you’re sad. You know by now this is your home. Tell me what’s hurting you so.”

  Through the aching in my throat, I said, “I had a dream the other night about my dad and you talking. My dad’s gone. He can’t take care of me. I thought I could do it alone, but I can’t. I can’t lose you. I can’t do it without you.”

  Moses rocked back and forth slowly as I cried harder than I had ever cried in my life. Words stumbled out of me, broken by emotion. “I miss my dad… I don’t want to lose you… I’m scared…” I squeezed him hard and completely broke down.

  Moses rubbed my head lightly, his other hand on my back. After a few moments, he said, “I reckon you haven’t cried over losing your daddy—been holding it in. I’m glad to be the one you trust with your tears.”

  Tears flooded my cheeks. I pushed my face into him and let it all out. He was right, I hadn’t cried over the loss of my father. I’d hidden the pain and just gone on. But I was safe now. It all came welling to the surface in the arms of my grandpa—a colored man so like my daddy. I was hugging my dad, feeling his presence again. He was allowing me to live the pain I needed to feel in order to shed it.

  He squeezed me hard. I held him with all my strength. “You’re the strongest little boy I know,” he said. “And you’re wrong about one thing, son. You can do it on your own. You already proved that. But you shouldn’t do it on your own. No boy anywhere should be without a father and mother who love him. It isn’t at all fair, not at all, and you’re allowed to hurt.”

  Moses kept rocking me against his chest. “It’s okay to be sad. Lucilla and Mayhew are sad about their daddy, but not because of goodness. They are sad because their daddy is not like yours. They do not have the happy memories you do. Theirs is a sad sadness, while yours is a happy sadness.”